


Pretty in Red

by Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Filthy, Lace, Like, M/M, More lace, hes moaning so lewdly i cant even, i cant being im writing lace porn again, its loud and wet and descriptive and beautiful, johns a whore, so filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya/pseuds/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has an itch only Sherlock can scratch. And he scratches all over, just to be considerate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty in Red

**Author's Note:**

> I am pathetic. I am a sinner. I deserve more porn for this. God, I'm going to bed. Enjoy, you beautiful fucks. I didn't read this over because it's literally too filthy to read twice. No correlation with the first lace fic I wrote, just the same-ish concept.

John wriggled and squirmed delightfully, arse full of his own fingers, clad in a sanguine pair of laced panties, exquisitely untouchable in fabricated design.

“Oh, oh, Sherlock, please, I’m so empty, please,” he whined, stretching his legs apart further, shivering to the chill chewing at his hot thighs, aching with wondrous effort, perspiration dotted along the straining muscles.

“Mm, not yet, love, you’re not open enough. I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no, not that devious guile again.

“Sherlock, please,” John persisted, only to be choked off by a delicious cry that tore itself from his throat, as his fingers brushed his sweet spot, his cock giving a firm, anticipatory leap.

“You’ve been so good for me, John,”

“Sherlock,” John warned, voice broken and pitched.

“I should reward you, shouldn’t I?”

“Sherlock, don’t tease me!”

“Want me to stuff you up, John? Shove my fat cock up in your pretty arse?”

“Sherlock, God, yes, please, for the love of—”

John never had the opportunity to complete that statement, for a favourably large prick was currently sinking into his succulent arse, all beaten and bit up; reddened from hands and teeth and lips; from pinching and rubbing and biting and sucking; marks littered along the plush meat of his rear, that gracious curve, dripping into solid thighs. Fingers bit into the creamy flesh of said thighs, snagging beneath his hipbones, and tugging the blond backwards, allowing John to experience the glorious madness of fucking himself, on his hands and knees, at the mercy of Sherlock’s merciful hand.

“You look so nice in red, John.”

John could only pant and whimper, canting his hips towards Sherlock’s heavy cock, his own jerking and jumping helplessly, bouncing against his belly, with every kick to his prostate. With a particular fantastic round of indescribable thrusts, John’s hand flew out, scrambling to grip weakly at the headboard, his back arched, painfully, almost.

Then there was a sound.

It was small, muffled, choked back, but it was still there, and real.

Sherlock was moaning. John’s heart sputtered.

Oh, he sounded _decadent_.

A rich dark chocolate, dripping and sweet between John’s fingers. A smoky rumble, a crackling rum, running smoothly across a parched man’s tongue.

That’s exactly what blew John over, tipping the scale neatly.

A guttural cry was sounded, and those panties, a crimson which stuck to John’s skin, tasteful and prettifying, well, they ended up tossed into a lost heap of disregarded garments, a wet white stain dribbled over it. John’s arse held the same, but Sherlock was dear enough to lick him clean.

Certainly wouldn’t want his darling boy getting dirty. 


End file.
